


ribs

by yesterday



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M, One Shot Collection, Original Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 21:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5600935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterday/pseuds/yesterday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, right. What’re you gonna show me?” </p><p>“You’ll see.”</p><p>“It better not be anything to do with--” Here, Aoba pauses, catching Noiz’s eye and flicking his gaze down. Lower. Below the belt. “--that.”</p><p>Noiz smirks. “We can do it in a park another time.”</p><p>“I’m saying we absolutely won’t!” Aoba sputters, half-heartedly kicking Noiz on the shin. “Pervert.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. resolutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short new year fic for new year's (hah), set post re:c.

“It’s packed!” Aoba shouts, voice raised over the dull roar of the crowd around him as he maneuvers his way through it. 

“It’s New Year’s,” Noiz points out, holding onto Aoba’s hand. 

“I know that, that’s why we’re here!” Stopping, Aoba rolls his eyes at Noiz. 

They’re in Berlin for an early weekend trip, taking advantage of the holidays to sneak in some vacation time. Christmas, and everything else that comes with it, is entirely different in Germany than it was in Midorijima. Aoba noticed it immediately when the decorations overtook the country overnight, festive garlands decorating doors and trees tucked in department store corners. And if that didn’t tip him off, Noiz stopped abruptly in the doorway of the grocery store one evening and pointed up at the mistletoe, snagging Aoba by the waist too quickly for him to run.

He’d kissed him full on the mouth in front of every late evening shopper passing by, in an inappropriate public display of affection that left Aoba vowing not to ever show his face there again, at least not until the new year. It would have be _never again_ , except that was the store closest one to their home, and Aoba knows most of the staff there. Sensibility won out over embarrassment. When they got back to the apartment, Aoba made Noiz unpack all of the groceries as punishment. 

Noiz had asked him why he was mad, and Aoba had sputtered, unable to come up with a coherent answer. 

“Because it’s embarrassing!” he said. “Everyone was staring!” 

“So?” Noiz had said, stocking the pantry back up. “Let them see. I don’t have anything to hide.” 

Aoba had gaped at him, and later that night, he thought: he doesn’t have anything to hide either. Except. But.

But it’s different. Germany is different, with its cold weather, its sweeping, grand architecture in a mishmash of modern beside old, its narrow streets, in its utter unfamiliarity. In the fact that people here are open with their affections, easy in displaying it. It isn’t that Aoba disliked being touched by Noiz (how could it possibly be?), but that he’s simply in the middle of adjusting. To the realisation that he can touch Noiz all he wants, within reason, in public. There’s a term for it-- culture shock? Yeah, that. 

All in all, Aoba’s been getting used to living in Germany relatively well. His vocabulary is expanding every day, even if his grammar and accent are still absolute shit, but he scrapes by. And aside from learning the best shortcuts and routes to take to meet Noiz at a nearby cafe for lunch, Aoba’s been trying something else out as well. 

It starts with a casual peck to Noiz’s cheek, delivered with as much nonchalance as Aoba can muster when he greets him at the cafe, then to Aoba twining his arm around Noiz’s on a chilly walk home, blatantly stealing warmth from him. Little touches, here and there. Nothing big, no grand, showy gestures, but small things that add up. They say without words: _I’m yours, you’re mine, and I love you_.

Aoba hopes that Noiz understands it. He thinks he does, because Noiz has always expressed affection best physically, though he’s forward with it in speech too. Sometimes Aoba is jealous of it-- Noiz’s ability to say what he thinks so earnestly and matter-of-factly. (Aoba’s working on that, too.) 

Tonight, however, he’s grabbed hold of Noiz’s hand for practicality’s sake-- in a crowd this large, he’d lose him otherwise. Brandenburg Gate is famous for its New Year’s Eve celebration, or Silvester, as Noiz had told him. There’s food, there’s live music, and there has to be at least a hundred thousand people here for all of those things, counting down the minutes to the new year together. When Aoba researched it, it’d seemed like fun. Neither Noiz nor him anticipated the crowd. 

Stamping his feet, Aoba breathes out in an exhale of white, his breath in crystallised form. Around them, a low thrum of excitement is building. Noiz’s grip on his hand tightens, and when Aoba glances at him, his eyes are slightly widened, unblinking. 

“Excited?” The flush on Noiz’s face is from more than the cold air, Aoba suspects. 

“...yeah,” Noiz admits. “It’s the first time I’ve gone to this type of event.”

“Me too,” Aoba says. “New Year’s Eve is more of a family thing in Midorijima. I wonder if everyone will be going to the shrine this year.”

“The shrine?” 

“Yeah, to go pray, and you know. Just because.”

“Just because?” Noiz says, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t it to see what your luck will be like for the next year?”

“Eh? What’s with that, asking if you already know why!” Aoba laughs, poking Noiz on the shoulder. “But yeah, that’s it. You can buy lucky charms and stuff too.” 

“We should go together next year,” says Noiz, sneaking his arm around Aoba’s waist and pulling him closer to his side. 

“Sure.” Aoba grins at him. “Oh, right, I was gonna say, doesn’t this remind you a bit of Rhyme?”

“Rhyme?”

“Uh-huh. It’s loud, it’s noisy, it’s bright…” 

“It isn’t the same,” Noiz interrupts. Aoba makes a face at him, and he adds, “But it’s like it. Getting pretty loud.” 

Loud is an understatement. Aoba peeks at his Coil. 11:59. 

“That’s because there’s only a minute left!”

A slow, backwards countdown begins, rising up through the air, buoyed up by thousands of voices shouting into the night. Everyone’s eyes are fixed above the gate, waiting. Aoba bounces on his feet, grinning from ear to ear, and Noiz’s mouth curls up at the corners in a small, contented smile.

“ _Zehn, neun, acht…_ ” 

Noiz’s profile is a kaleidoscope of reflected colours from the lights of the stage in front of them as Aoba turns to him, tugging him closer by way of his scarf. The piercings are long gone, almost no trace of them visible. Aoba traces his fingers over the sharp curve of Noiz’s cheek, and then cups his face in one gloved hand. 

“ _Sieben, sechs, funf, vier...!_ ”

Full of warmth despite the biting winter chill, Aoba sees himself reflected in Noiz’s eyes. Noiz’s mouth is soft, parted like he’s on the verge of speaking. 

“ _Drei, zwei, eins!_ ” 

Aoba leans in, as does Noiz, and their mouths meet as the whistle of fireworks shoot above them, lighting everything up in a dazzling burst of light. His lips are warm and soft, and he slips his arms around Noiz’s shoulders, holding him close. This is their first New Year’s Eve celebration together, and Aoba thinks, the first of many to come. 

“Happy New Year,” he whispers to Noiz after, cheeks pink, and pleased with himself. 

“Happy New Year,” Noiz murmurs, then pulls Aoba back in for another kiss, and the crowd cheers and cheers around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year's!


	2. domestic life was never quite my style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> but when you smile, you knock me out, i fall apart, and i thought i was so smart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the "anniversaries" prompt of noiao week on tumblr!

“Come on, Noiz, hurry up!” 

It’s dusk in Midorijima, the sun half eclipsed by the overflow of towering buildings crowded in this particular district. Aoba’s glancing over his shoulder, standing a few meters ahead of Noiz and grinning at him. The glow from the sunset casts an orange tint on the hair spilling over his shoulders, and Noiz itches to reach out and touch it. Snag him by the slender curve of his waist, reel him in and kiss him right here on the street. He can imagine the taste of Aoba’s mouth beneath his, and how he’ll sputter and turn red as he chastises him for doing that here, with everyone watching. 

It’s an appealing thought, enough so that Noiz quickens his pace to catch up with Aoba. But Aoba doesn’t let him, staying just out of reach. 

“Hey,” Noiz calls out. “What are you in such a rush for?” 

Aoba doesn’t answer, turning a corner and vanishing into an alley shortcut. Noiz cuts through the crowd, hot on his heels. Then he stops short. 

Aoba’s gone. 

The alley is empty aside from a couple of dumpsters shoved off to one side, tag art emblazoned beside it. Noiz frowns. Hide and seek? He checks behind the dumpsters, walks the full length of the passage and comes up empty. There’s no sign of anyone else here at all. 

“Aoba?”

No answer. No one else is here. Noiz is completely and utterly alone.

 

\-----

 

He wakes up with Aoba’s name on his tongue. 

When he rolls over onto his side, there’s no one there. Just an empty expanse of bed. The entire apartment is quiet apart from the hum of the HVAC, and the sound of Noiz’s own breathing, rough around the edges. He’s in Germany, and Aoba is still thousands of kilometers away, on the other side of the world. Noiz’s chest tightens, and he glances down at it in confusion before he realises the feeling is internal rather than external. His skin is hot to the touch beneath his fingers when he splays them on his chest, and he winces when he digs his nails into his skin, perfect crescents forming. Aoba gave him this. The ability to feel. 

He misses him. 

A little longer. he tells himself. A little longer, and he’ll be able to see Aoba again. To kiss him, to hold him, and make up for all the lost time. Noiz closes his eyes.

He wonders if Aoba misses him too.

 

\-----

 

All he sees is blue when he wakes up. 

Aoba is a warm bundle pressed up against him, one arm thrown carelessly over Noiz, his head buried against Noiz’s chest. Noiz breathes in the clean scent of his hair, brushing his nose over the top of his head. He marvels at this; at the fact that Aoba is here with him, and sleeping in his arms. The urge to drift back off to sleep is nearly overwhelming, but Noiz resists it. Aoba is a sound sleeper, and that makes it easy for him to slip out of bed without waking him. 

The Usagimodoki swarm him in the kitchen, bouncing around him as he gets everything ready. By the time he finishes making the breakfast tray, Aoba’s still fast asleep. Noiz sets the tray to the side, climbing onto the bed and leaning over Aoba. 

He pushes Aoba's hair back from his forehead, pressing feathery light kisses from his temple, down the bridge of his nose and drifting to his cheek, to his ear. All over his face. 

“Wake up,” he says, ignoring Aoba’s plea for _five more minutes_. Then he kisses him full on the mouth until Aoba stirs, reaching up to clutch at Noiz with a quiet moan. His eyes slide open slowly, gazing at Noiz blearily, a faint flush on his cheeks. Noiz pulls back, satisfied with the reaction he's gotten. 

“...can't you ever wake me up like a normal person?” Aoba asks. 

“What's normal?” Noiz retorts, the perfect picture of innocence. While Aoba's getting up, yawning widely and propping himself against the headboard, Noiz brings the breakfast tray up, putting it on Aoba's lap. Aoba stares down at it, then back up at Noiz.

“Is this… did you seriously make me breakfast in bed?”

“For us,” Noiz says casually, dragging his own tray forward. 

Aoba examines the contents with a suspicious eye: two sunny side up eggs, a small array of meats and cheeses, warmed up rolls with butter on the side, and a cup of coffee. Black. Noiz’s arrangement is identical, except his cup of coffee is sweetened with plenty of cream added. He waits and watches until Aoba picks up his fork. 

“What’s the occasion?” he asks around a mouthful of eggs, after a quick _thanks for the meal_. 

Noiz tears open his roll first, buttering it up. He shrugs. “No reason in particular.” 

“No reason at all? I didn’t forget your birthday, right? ...or mine.” 

“Are you an idiot?” Noiz asks, amused. “It isn’t your birthday.”

“Then what is it? Nobody does breakfast in bed just because. Come on Noiz, just tell me!” Jabbing his fork at him, Aoba scowls. When Noiz doesn’t answer and continues to slather butter onto his bread, Aoba leans forward and flicks him on the forehead. Noiz blinks, his eyes narrowing, expression put upon.

“A year ago…” Tapping his fork on his plate, Noiz averts his eyes from him, trying to find the words to say. This is ridiculous. He shouldn’t have said anything, but Aoba has that expression on his face. The one that says he isn’t going to stop hounding Noiz until he explains himself. “You came to Germany with me a year ago, today.”

“Eh?” Aoba stops eating. “Has it really been a year already?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Wait, then, this is-- you’re-” With a flap of his hand, Aoba gapes at Noiz. “Is this some kind of weird celebration? Did you plan out other stuff for today?”

Noiz frowns, and exhales irritably. Something inside of him is squirming, but he quashes it down. “It’s an anniversary. I want to celebrate it with you.” 

“Oh my god,” Aoba says, dumbfounded. 

“What?” says Noiz, trying to read what else Aoba is feeling other than “stupefied” and “stunned”, both of which are common emotions Aoba shows all the time. Usually accompanied by some form of slack-jaw, dumbfounded look. It’s stupidly endearing, in its own way.

“Nothing, I’m just surprised. I mean, I’m surprised, but also not surprised.” Aoba returns to eating his breakfast, blowing on the coffee to cool it down. 

“Why?” Taking cue from Aoba, Noiz fills the inside of his roll with meat and cheese, biting into it. He tactfully doesn’t tell him that he said surprise three times in a span of less than thirty seconds, something he wouldn’t have done over a year ago.

“Well, this is like an anniversary, right? Of us?” Once Noiz nods, Aoba continues. “But how come you picked today instead of another day?”

“When else would,” and Noiz savours the words, “our anniversary be?” 

“Shouldn’t it be like…” Aoba chews on his lip, and his cheeks colour to a dainty pink that has Noiz transfixed. “You know, it’s usually when you confess to someone, and they agree to go out with you, and stuff.” 

“I didn’t know,” Noiz says, and means it. He rarely lies. “Never stuck with anyone long enough for one before.” 

Aoba falls silent. 

“Then when do you think it should be?” Noiz asks. 

“Uhm,” Aoba says eloquently. 

Something clicks in Noiz’s brain, the pieces falling perfectly into place. He suggests mischievously, “Could have one for the first time we met. First time we kissed. And the first time I touched your--”

“How am I supposed to tell you when I think it should be if you don’t shut up!!” Aoba barks, pinching a piece off of his roll and throwing it at Noiz, who catches Aoba by the wrist and licks his fingers. A laugh slips out from Aoba, and he makes a half-hearted attempt to pull himself free. “That tickles, knock it off!” 

“Penalty,” Noiz tells him, and doesn’t tell him that he didn’t even hit him with the roll; this is just an excuse to touch him. Aoba scoffs. 

“Anyway, I guess I would’ve thought it’d be that time. At the hospital, after Platinum Jail. When we were in your room, and we were talking. Remember?”

“You visited me a lot,” Noiz says innocently, and then before Aoba can get mad at him, he adds. “I remember. You’re right. We’ll do something then too.”

“No, no, once a year is fine!” Aoba waves Noiz off. “But how come you picked today?”

It seemed logical to Noiz two weeks ago, when he decided to do something to commemorate the occasion, but now that Aoba’s asking him, all of his reasons scatter and flee in ten different directions. Finally, he says, “Because it was the day we started our life together.”

Aoba stares at Noiz, flush growing darker by the second, until he finally gives up holding eye contact with him, and dives back into his breakfast, chewing furiously. He mumbles around his food, “You’re so embarrassing. How do you even say half the stuff you do with a straight face?”

“It’s the truth,” Noiz says earnestly.

“It’s still embarrassing,” Aoba says, but his eyes go soft and he laces his fingers together with Noiz’s. Noiz’s heart flip flops in his chest, doing pathetic tumbles over itself and banging against his ribcage. “But I get it. Then… today’s the day, huh?” 

“Yeah.” Noiz’s mouth is dry. 

“Happy Anniversary,” Aoba says, smiling. He leans over and kisses Noiz. It tastes like the coffee Aoba was drinking, bitter and black. Noiz closes his eyes, tipping his head to one side and deepening the kiss. Eventually, the bitterness is washed away by the sweetness of Aoba’s mouth, of his tongue, and of his presence here, with Noiz. 

Shoving the breakfast tray off to the side, ignoring Aoba’s warning of _be careful_ (the tray is mostly empty anyway). Noiz falls upon him, wrapping his arms around Aoba's waist, cheek resting on his chest. If he concentrates, he can almost hear the sound of Aoba's heart beating. He's warm. Soft. Aoba runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it, and Noiz leans into the touch like a lazy cat, reveling in the attention. Tilting his head back, he nips at Aoba's jaw and mumbles against his throat, “Pinch me.”

“Hah?”

“Just do it.”

“You think you're dreaming?” But Aoba reaches out, and grabs Noiz's nose, pinching it. Noiz’s expression tightens into a grimace, and Aoba laughs. “Well?”

“Not a dream,” Noiz says, stretching up along the length of Aoba's body and pinning him down, nudging his nose to Aoba’s. “It's better than one.” 

“Hm…. Yeah, I think so too,” Aoba says with a smile. He yields, pliant under the touch of Noiz’s mouth, and then arches up to meet him, and it’s as Noiz said. No dream can compare to this, no figment of his imagination can accurately replicate the solid weight of Aoba beneath him, or the texture of his hair. They’re together, in the here and now.

“So,” Aoba whispers. Their foreheads touching, intimately close in the aftermath of the kiss. “What else do you have planned for the rest of the day?”

Noiz cups Aoba’s face in both hands like something precious. He decides that until he memorises the shape of his mouth, he’ll kiss Aoba until they’re both breathless, drunk on the taste and touch of each other. Today is his day off, and he has every intention of spending the entirety of it with Aoba. Everything else is negotiable. 

He says, “I’m spending it with you.”


	3. heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, he knows that Noiz would be here in a flash if he told him that he needed it-- needed him to fuck him until he’s completely worn out and sated, covered in cum and filled with it and out of it. But it isn’t entirely a lie. Heats can last for days, and the last thing he wants is for Noiz to land himself back in the hospital for overexertion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/B/O OR OMEGAVERSE AU, but not so much AU as it is OU, with the elements thrown in.
> 
> (though tbh it's all just porn. written partly for the alternate universe prompt of noiao week, but mostly just because it came up on twitter and i was like hell yeah.)

“don’t come over today”

Aoba stares at the text on his Coil, and then hits send. He closes his eyes, rolling over onto his stomach. Sweat beads along his skin, and his breathing is laboured. The empty pill bottle lies discarded off to the side by his pillow, useless. Aoba clenches his teeth. The heat hit him at the worst possible time, taking him by surprise. He’s out of suppressants, his supply low, and then gone for the month when both he and Tae, caught up in the aftermath of Platinum Jail and visiting Noiz in the hospital, completely forgot to refill his prescription.

But the way Aoba figures is he’ll just have to deal with it, like he’s done all his life. ‘course, the heats are made more manageable with the pills, so without them, he’s burning up from the inside out. Aching all over, his body over sensitive and eager to fuck.

His Coil sounds with a new message notification. With a groan, Aoba checks it.

“why?”

Chewing on his lower lip, Aoba types out his response. “i think i caught something, and i don’t want you to get it too. you just got out of the hospital.”

Of course, he knows that Noiz would be here in a flash if he told him that he needed it-- needed him to fuck him until he’s completely worn out and sated, covered in cum and filled with it and out of it. But it isn’t entirely a lie. Heats can last for days, and the last thing he wants is for Noiz to land himself back in the hospital for overexertion.

Except when he shuts his eyes, he thinks of the bruising grip of Noiz’s hands on his hips, the heavy weight of his cock on his tongue, every other instance under which he’s touched him, and his own cock gives a heavy throb of interest. His clothes cling to him, and his skin feels sticky. Aoba wrinkles his nose.

Maybe a cold shower will help. And if it doesn’t, well. He’ll just have to take care of it himself.

After digging under his bed and checking his Coil (no reply from Noiz; Aoba hopes he got the message), he heads to the washroom, stripping as he goes. Not even the cool air helps him relax. Tae is gone, or he would’ve been more circumspect, and he would’ve asked her to go fill out a dose of heat suppressants for him. But she’s out for the weekend, staying overnight with an old colleague of hers to keep an eye on her. He tells himself he can handle it, and he can. It’s easier with her gone, and the house empty.

Aoba stands under the freezing spray of the shower for ten minutes. It doesn’t help. If anything, it makes it worse, until Aoba can’t tell whether the slickness between his thighs is from the water or from how turned on he is, cock hard and flushed and drooling against his stomach. Biting back his frustration long enough to adjust the water to a reasonable temperature, he groans. He reaches out from inside the shower, grabbing the toy he brought with him. Something to take the edge off. He’d learned early on that sometimes doing it with his fingers when he forgot to take his pills or ran out wasn’t enough.

The toy is bright blue, with a flared base and a vibrate option that Aoba’s intimately familiar with. Sticking it onto the wall, Aoba ignores it for the moment in favour of reaching around and sliding two fingers into his ass, whimpering as he stretches himself open. His prep is impromptu, rushed as he fucks himself on them.

It isn’t enough. Aoba is _burning_ , absolutely hasty and rushed when he lines himself up with the toy and sinks down on it. His mouth parts, head hanging forward, hair wet and sticking to his skin. Eyes squeezed shut, Aoba gives himself a minute to get used to the stretch, and then starts to move shakily.

He pretends that it’s Noiz behind him, thrusting into him. That he’s whispering into Aoba’s ear, the rumble of his voice sending a shiver through his entire body, that it’s his hand circling his cock in a tight grip and working him over. Wishful thinking, but it’s all he has right now. He wants to kiss Noiz, to run his fingers through his hair and pin him down with his weight as he rides him into orgasm, or suck him off while Noiz has one too many fingers stuffed in him. He wants to come on Noiz’s knot until he passes out.

Grinding down the toy, Aoba angles himself until he hits that perfect spot, hips jerking. “Nnn-- N- Noiz--”

“I can smell you from down the hall.”

Aoba jerks his head up. Noiz is standing in the open doorway, just out of reach of the water raining down on him, eyes bright and dangerous. Startled, Aoba stops, face going hot. There’s a long moment of silence, where Noiz doesn’t do _anything_ , and neither does Aoba. Finally, Noiz arches an eyebrow at him.

“Not gonna finish?” he asks, voice low and dark. “You look desperate for it.”

“N...Noiz,” Aoba gasps, his restraint near breaking point. Part of him is mortified at being caught in this position, and another part of him-- primal, carnal, and craving, _alphalphalphalpha_ , wondering why Noiz isn’t making his way into the bathroom and pulling him from the wall and pushing his thighs apart and pushing into him like he should be. Then he remembers. “What are you doing here?! I-- I told you not to come over.”

“Thought I should check up on you,” Noiz says.

Aoba groans, and staggers when he slides off the toy, using the wall as support. “You checked up on me, I can handle this.”

“You’re in heat.” Noiz runs his eyes over Aoba hungrily. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

They both know he would’ve been more than willing to help Aoba through it.

“Because you’re supposed to be taking it easy,” Aoba growls, frustrated. “Go away.”

The water soaks Noiz’s clothing quickly as he stalks forward, and Aoba plasters himself to the wall. Eyes wide, he stares at Noiz, swallowing thickly. His pulse goes into overdrive when Noiz hovers over him, hands planted on either side of his head. The chuckle ghosts over his lips, and Aoba closes his eyes, trembling. Noiz tilts his head, kissing the side of Aoba’s neck. He says, “Don’t wanna.”

Under any other circumstance, Aoba would have thrown up a huge fuss until Noiz backed off. Today, he’s utterly helpless to it. To Noiz, to the physiological and psychological urge of every nerve in his body screaming at him that it wants an alpha, that there’s one right here, so why isn’t he doing anything? Doing it with him. Aoba sucks in his breath sharply at the drag of Noiz’s teeth on his throat, scraping along the delicate skin. “ _Haa_ , ah-- ...Noiz.”

“Do you always think of me when you touch yourself? When you’re fucking yourself on that?” The heat of Noiz’s mouth disappears. Aoba opens his eyes a crack, and finds Noiz examining the toy with great interest. “Guess you’re right. I should take it easy, so… why don’t you finish up in here?”

“W-wha--”

“I want to see how you do it by yourself,” Noiz says, and grabs Aoba’s ass in both hands, holding him apart as he maneuvers the toy back inside Aoba, who keens and desperately clutches at Noiz. Unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable. Not for the first time, or the last, Aoba opens his eyes and glares at Noiz. He’s panting, water running down his face, into his mouth. All Noiz does is reach one hand around and splits his fingers into a v, rubbing at where Aoba’s hole is stretched tight around the vibrator. Aoba’s knees nearly give on him then and there.

Holding him up, Noiz skims his hands up over Aoba’s stomach, up to his nipples, where he thumbs at them, and then pinches them. Hard. Aoba makes a sound that’s a cross between a wail and a sob, the pain transformed and heady, intoxicating.

“Do it,” Noiz repeats, coaxing.

Only there's really no need to coax. Between Aoba's own teary-eyed desperation and instinct to obey, he starts to fuck himself on the toy again, hard and fast. No patience for something drawn out to be found, just a need to come.

Moving out from beneath the showerhead, Noiz tucks his hands into his pockets and surveys Aoba, taking in the entirety of him. Watches the jerky rhythm of his thrusts into his own palm and back onto the vibrator.

“Turn it on,” he instructs. “Medium setting. Then hold yourself with one hand-- there, good. Squeeze it.”

“Noiz,” Aoba breathes out, eager to please, and— he’d never admit this out loud in a million years— Noiz watching him gets him hotter than it should. He’s close, stomach tight and his head swimming, doing exactly as directed. “Please, Noiz.”

Eyelashes low and gaze languid, Noiz tilts his chin up at him, only the slight clench of his jaw giving away the desire behind his cool demeanour as he continues to tell Aoba what to do. Aoba obeys, reaching up to run the pad of his thumb over his nipple with a groan. Writhes against the wall when he tugs at his cock just so, flicking his wrist. Noiz stalks back in, unable to restrain himself, reaching around and putting the vibration setting on the highest level.

“Nnnhh-- hah, ah--” Aoba gasps, his body pushed to its limits. Noiz sucks at Aoba’s collarbone, littering marks left and right there. Pushing Aoba down, he pins him to the toy, and Aoba wails, clinging to Noiz as the vibration thrums inside him, directly on his sweet spot.

“There you go,” Noiz purrs. “You’re close, aren’t you? Go on.”

And in case Aoba needs a hand, Noiz lends him one-- literally. He covers Aoba’s fingers with his own, tucks their foreheads together. The rough slide of his palm, the heavy rhythm of Noiz’s breathing, the relentless throb deep within him tips him over the edge. Aoba comes with a shout, head dropping onto Noiz’s shoulder and biting down. He spasms, cum spilling on their hands, his ass going tight around the toy. Noiz keeps him pinned, until the vibrator drags out every last bit of his orgasm, and Aoba is sobbing.

But his cock is still painfully hard, the relief only temporary. He heaves in a breath, the air rushing into his lungs, the sharp clean scent of Noiz filling him along with it, driving him into a maddening frenzy. With an unprecedented gentleness, Noiz lifts Aoba off of the toy, holding him steady as he steals his breath away once more, seizing him in a ravenous, probing kiss.

Aoba arches, rubbing his cock on the wet front of Noiz’s pants with a whine. Every thought of telling Noiz to hold himself back, to take care of himself first and not strain himself is replaced with a need that threatens to consume him, an unabashed willingness to beg Noiz to turn him onto his stomach and shove his way in him. Aoba wants him to dismantle him with the unnerving talent that Noiz has for it, until he comes apart beneath him.

“Bedroom,” Noiz growls against his ear. “Now.”

 

\-----

 

Later, when Aoba is in his right mind again and not in the grips of his heat, he’ll have time to bury his head in embarrassment in his pillows at how he acted. How he clung to Noiz, kissing him and trying to tear his clothes off of him and rutting against his leg like-- like- well, like a bitch in heat-- as they stumbled down the hall. Noiz slammed him against the wall at one point, leaving a wet imprint of his body there, and Aoba yanks his shirt off of him in retaliation. Somehow or the other, they make it to the bedroom.

Noiz shoves him down on the bed, and Aoba submits, presenting himself like an offering. Bares his throat and whines low, Noiz automatically smoothing his thumb over Aoba’s brow soothingly in response to it.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” he murmurs. “I wanted to, but… figured it was better for you to stick to what you were doing.”

There it is. The surprising consideration that’s been continuously cropping up from Noiz, concern that doles itself out sweetly, an alpha’s consideration for an omega he cares about. It’s partly natural, Aoba knows, but it’s also a total change from the Noiz who broke into his house all that time ago. He likes it; likes how sometimes it takes even Noiz by surprise. But right now, what Aoba wants isn’t sweetness. It’s Noiz’s dick in his ass, his hand on him, and the crush of their mouths together that he wants.

“Please, please, Noiz,” Aoba begs, patience gone. Dignity gone. His thighs are slick with wet, he’s soaked, and so, so ready for Noiz. 

“So needy,” Noiz chuckles, but he’s yanking Aoba closer to him by the back of his thighs, the imprint of his fingers burning like a brand into his skin. Aoba bucks his hips when Noiz pushes three fingers into him without warning, tossing his head back with a scream. He goes taut around Noiz, heart threatening to leap out of his chest, knuckles white as the sheets he’s clenching.

Pulling his fingers out of him, Noiz rubs them on the inside of Aoba’s thighs, messing them up even more than they already are. On the verge of biting out a warning, of which Aoba is torn between telling Noiz that he better get in him right now or the only action he’ll be seeing for a month will be his hand, or, or--

“Ride me.” Noiz doesn’t wait for a reply, sitting back after. His eyes are gleaming, mouth curved into a sly smirk. Hungry.

Aoba groans in frustration, limbs heavy and sluggish as he climbs onto Noiz’s lap, balancing one hand on his shoulder. He reaches around, spreading him open and then sinking down on his cock. It’s easy going, Aoba already stretched from earlier and pliant, the piercings not even catching like they sometimes do on his opening. Noiz is hot, the twitch of his cock inside Aoba impossibly good and right, thicker than the toy, which in retrospect, isn’t even a passable substitute. “ _Ah_!”

Head bowed and lips parted, Aoba pauses. Takes a moment to adjust to the perfect fit of Noiz, the way he’s got him balls deep in him. Noiz has hold of his hip, one hand running over his back to cup his face, tilting it up and nosing at Aoba’s cheek. His chest is heaving, a whimper falling from his mouth when Noiz kisses the corner of his eye.

“Hot,” he murmurs, and seizes Aoba in a biting kiss, grinding upwards and into Aoba.

Aoba doesn’t need a second prompt, raising himself up and slamming back down on Noiz’s cock, the slap of skin on skin loud in the room. But it’s nearly drowned out by the uneven gasps and cries from Aoba, and the harsh edge of Noiz’s breathing.

He starts to see stars, supernovas bursting behind his eyes the instant Noiz runs his hands over his chest, tweaks and pinches at his nipples. The piercings on Noiz’s navel rub perfectly against the head of his cock, push up against the crown of it, and it’s an attack from all around on Aoba’s defenses.

“You’re perfect,” Noiz praises, pushing hotly into Aoba, matching his pace thrust for thrust.

Bouncing in Noiz’s lap, Aoba shoves his face into the crook of Noiz’s shoulder, muffling his moans there. He chokes out Noiz’s name like a mantra, splits it into seven syllables and repeats it over and over, blanking out into a perfect white space.

“I’m,” Aoba gasps, frantic. “I’m close, Noiz…!”

Noiz seizes Aoba, bowling him over onto his back and hooking his calves over his shoulders, folding him in half. Aoba’s hair is plastered to his neck, and Noiz pushes it over his shoulder, licking at his skin. Bending him in half, Noiz keeps fucking into him earnestly, words spilling into his ear. “Already? Your body’s more sensitive today. Is it because of the heat?”

Of course it’s because of the heat, Aoba wants to retort, but all that comes out of his mouth is a babble of _please_ and _Noiz_ , because he thinks he can feel it-- he’s about to come, and Noiz is thickening inside him. It’s rough, verging on animalistic, and everything Aoba could possibly ask for. His mouth is caught in an open, soundless wail, arched off the mattress in a desperate attempt to destroy every ounce of space left between him and Noiz. Thin, raised red lines mark Noiz’s arms where Aoba’s scored his nails into him, clutching at him.

Above him, Noiz is gazing down at him with fervor, pupils dark and blown, and Aoba knows he’s drinking in every last drop of his scent, his expression, the feel of him. The brilliant blue fan of his hair underneath him, the pale, smooth column of his throat, and the abused red of his nipples as Noiz continues to toy with them. He knows this, and the knowledge of it makes him feel wanted. Needed. Adored, and filled with an urge to take all of Noiz in.

“Don’t show this expression to anyone else,” Noiz growls. He puts his teeth to the junction of Aoba’s neck and shoulder, and _bites_.

At the exact same moment, he thrusts impossibly deep into him, and Aoba screams, louder than he ever has before, toes curling into the mattress as he comes.

_in_

 

 

 

_and_

 

_out_

 

_and_

 

 

 

_in_

_and_

_breathe_

 

The bite mark is bleeding sluggishly. Aoba’s disoriented, high on an overdrive of hormones and the peak of his climax, cum slick on his stomach and Noiz’s, spread between them.

“Nngh... hey, ease up a bit.” Noiz rocks into Aoba inch-by-inch, the slow swell of his knot stretching Aoba to his very limits, pressing down torturously that perfect spot inside him, sending shockwaves through him when Noiz gets all of himself inside Aoba’s yielding, eager body.

Every nerve in Aoba sings in crescendo, endorphins zinging along in his blood, all of him in perfect agreement for once that yes, this is what he wanted. What he needed. It’s almost too good, almost too much as Noiz grinds inside him through the last of his orgasm, Aoba quaking beneath him, clenching tight around what Noiz has to give. "Cum inside me, please, Noiz, I _need it_ , I need you--"

" _Lewd_." Hiking Aoba just that much closer to him, Noiz laps at the blood on Aoba’s neck. He groans out his name and shudders over him as he comes and comes inside Aoba in a hot flood, and Aoba has no choice but to take it and take it. Every rhythmic throb of his walls tightening down around Noiz's cock milks out his cum, sends it sliding deep into Aoba right where it belongs, and everything snaps into place. Aoba understands, instinctively, what just happened.

“I’m going to kill you,” Aoba manages to say that much from between gritted teeth. "You _bit_ me." But the rubbed raw walls of his insides, filled with Noiz render him lethargic, sated and too pleased to move. Later, he decides. He'll kill Noiz after, once he's down purring and coming down from his high, locking his legs around Noiz's waist to keep him from going anywhere at all.

 

\-----

 

It isn’t that they haven’t talked about it before. Given Noiz’s possessive nature and his extreme dislike of sharing, he’d brought it up first. Out of the blue, of course, and without preamble during one of the many times when Aoba was visiting him in the hospital. Marking, biting, bonding (whatever term he’d prefer to use) Aoba.

Aoba remembers his own reaction; he’d stuttered, gone through ten shades of red in the span of five seconds, and dropped the apple slice he was carving into a bunny for Noiz on the ground. And then he told Noiz that they’d talk about it after he got out of the hospital.

What’s holding him back isn’t that he doesn’t like Noiz, because he does. Like him. Very much. Almost too much, he’d say, and every so often, the affection would well up in him into a stronger emotion than _like_ , leaving him looking at Noiz all sappily until he shakes himself out of it. What’s holding him back is that Aoba’s gone through his entire life just fine, as he is. Sure, he’s an omega, but these days, it isn’t hard to pass off as beta with the right prescription, and a certain amount of self-assured swagger. He’s never needed or wanted to be marked like a possession.

But the instant Noiz set his teeth on the vulnerable crook of his neck and bit down, Aoba gets it. It isn’t about being owned or owning. It’s a promise, a vow.

Still--

“You could’ve at least warned me first, you, you-- you jerk!” The indignation seizes Aoba after he catches his breath long enough to come up with a sentence that isn’t composed solely of Noiz’s name in conjunction with some form of please.

Noiz doesn’t reply. He’s curled at Aoba’s back, having eased both of them onto their sides in the aftermath so he can spoon Aoba from behind while remaining seated in him. Laving his tongue along the bite that’s already slowly sealing over, he sucks another mark alongside it, then nips at Aoba’s ear. “You never said I couldn’t.”

“I never said you could, either! I told you I’d think about it, that we’d talk about it later,” Aoba says, scowling. It’s next to impossible for Noiz to see it under the circumstances, but he wishes he would. “But you just went ahead and did it!”

“It’s later,” Noiz points out. The curve of his mouth is drawn down in a sulk; Aoba can tell from his tone. “We’re talking now.”

“The talking part is supposed to happen _first_.”

“Why does it matter?” Curling an arm around Aoba, Noiz flattens his palm over his abdomen, voice rough against his ear. “You love me, don’t you? You let me see you like this, you didn’t stop me.”

That throws Aoba for a loop, cutting into the middle of his tirade. Infuriatingly enough, Noiz is right. He could’ve stopped Noiz if he wanted to, no matter how far gone in his heat he is, but he hadn’t wanted to. He trusted Noiz to take care of him, and Noiz did-- is doing just that.

“I love you too,” Noiz says in little more than a mumble, his nose pressed to the nape of Aoba’s neck. “I don’t want anyone else but you.”

The last vestiges of Aoba’s annoyance melts from him, and he thinks, maybe this is all right. Maybe they can make things work together. Noiz isn’t wrong, after all. But it kind of annoys Aoba, the straightforward ease and arrogance of his assumption. Reckless, youthful confidence, is what Aoba suspects it is. The sort that makes it easy for Noiz to say precisely what’s on his mind, while Aoba struggles to get the words out. “I… I do too-- love you.”

He feels Noiz go still behind him, and tacks on: “So you better be ready to take responsibility for this.”

“I am,” Noiz promises, kissing Aoba’s shoulder. “I will.”

“Then I’ll be in your care,” Aoba says, twining his fingers together with Noiz’s on his chest, above the steady thump of his heartbeat. Contentment spreads in him.

“Yeah.” With a squeeze to their joined hands, Noiz shifts. A renewed jolt of lust shoots up Aoba's spine, and he writhes. As Noiz starts to rock inside Aoba again, provoking him into a mess of want and whines, he says, “I’m in your care.”


	4. your reply

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for noiao week on tumblr! this is "your reply".

“I don’t know about this,” Aoba says nervously. “What if something goes wrong? Or both of us get in an accident? I’ve only done this in video games before!”

Noiz snorts. “Nothing’s going to happen. It’s kind of the same as a game. Right is go, left is stop. Remember that, and it’ll be fine.”

“Right is go, left is stop,” Aoba repeats obediently. His hands are clenched tightly on the steering wheel, and he irrationally thinks of nothing but crashes, crashes and crashing. 

At least the weather is on their side; sunny with fat, fluffy clouds lingering overhead, and the slightest breeze stirring through the trees every so often. The residential street that they’re parked on is quiet. A perfect starting point for any new driver, which describes Aoba to a t. Noiz, strapped in the passenger’s seat beside him, gives his thigh a reassuring squeeze. 

“Start the car,” he says. 

Aoba goes through every step that he’s learned so far, under Noiz’s careful guidance, turning the key in the ignition and pulling the parking brake up. He signals, and then glances at Noiz with a wan smile. “Okay, here we go. Better hang on.”

Noiz’s laugh doesn’t die even when Aoba accidentally floors the gas as he pulls away from the curb, and he tells Aoba, “Ease up on the gas pedal.”

“Ahaha… oops.” The car smooths out and Aoba starts to relax. At his side, Noiz murmurs reassuringly. 

Somehow or the other, Aoba manages to guide the car in a slow revolution through the neighbourhood with no casualties, pulling them back to where they started fifteen minutes later. The wheel scrapes the curb with an alarming _rrrrrrk_ , and Aoba winces. He hopes nothing is wrong with it. 

“I think I scratched something,” he says.

“It’s fine,” Noiz says. “So? How was it?”

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be, I guess,” Aoba admits. “How do you think I did?”

“I thought that old lady was gonna toss her cane at the car after you nearly mowed her down. But other than that… a C. You pass.”

“Eh? Wait, what is that in numbers? Noiz? Noiz? And I didn’t mean to hit the gas that hard!” 

Laughing, Noiz unbuckles himself and gets out of the car. Aoba does the same. They switch sides, and Aoba lapses into a sulk with ill grace, arms folded across his chest. 

“Why do I have to learn how to drive anyway? I get around fine.” Either by walking, or making use of the public transport-- in the few years since Aoba’s move to Germany, he’s managed to adjust to living here. He’s even got a hang of the language now, though his accent is atrocious, and his grammar questionable at best. It’s a work in progress. 

“You don’t,” Noiz says. “I’ll always be around to drive you, or you can call a cab. Or a driver. Doesn’t matter. But…”

“But?” 

“You’ve taught me a lot of things.” Drumming his fingers on the wheel, Noiz pauses awkwardly, and then starts again. “But I’ve never done anything like that for you.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve done plenty for me! Remember? When I came here with you, I couldn’t speak any German, but you spent all that time practicing with me, and helping me,” Aoba reminds him.

Falling silent, Noiz continues to drive, looking straight ahead. Then he announces, “It doesn’t count.” 

“ _I_ think it should count.”

“It doesn’t,” Noiz insists.

Throwing his hands up in the air, Aoba shakes his head. Sometimes Noiz can be just as stubborn as Aoba, if not more so, once he gets an idea in his head. Unfortunately, Aoba can’t figure out for the life of him why Noiz is hung up on this particular idea. Maybe it’s because he knows Aoba would have never had a chance to learn how to drive in Midorijima. 

“Okay, fine,” he says. “But didn’t you have to take a whole three month course on driving to get your license? Actually, are you even allowed to teach me?”

“That’s only for people who want to get licensed. Do you?” 

“Aren’t you teaching me now because you want me to? Like, giving me a preview of what driving is?” Aoba asks, confused. 

Noiz clicks his tongue. “Noisy. You’re asking too many questions. ” 

“ _You’re_ the one whose fault that is.”

“Don’t know how to explain it.” 

“Just try,” Aoba says. 

“...I want you to rely on me a little,” Noiz says finally. “But if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I mean, you can do what you want.”

“I get the first part.” Aoba blinks. “But I think I’m missing something for the second part. Can you be clearer?” 

“Can we talk about this later?” Noiz asks. 

Aoba’s eyes drop and he sees the discomfort plain on Noiz’s features, an uncertainty that he rarely ever exhibits. It’s unsettling. He isn’t sure he likes it. Scrunching his brow, Aoba nods slowly, forgetting that Noiz can’t see him. “...yeah.”

“Thanks,” is Noiz’s quiet reply. 

The rest of the drive passes without much conversation, the muted sound of traffic from outside the car soon drowned out by Aoba turning on some music. 

\---

“Where are we going?” Aoba asks, hopping on one leg as he struggles to put his shoe on. 

Noiz holds onto his arm, keeping him balanced. His other arm is curled around a hamper, balancing it precariously on his hip. “To the park.” 

“The park?” repeats Aoba. “You’re taking me… to the park?”

“That’s right. You don’t want to go to the park?” Noiz says, straight-faced.

“I do, I’m just surprised. I thought you didn’t like-- like, you know. Grass. Leaves. Nature.” Try as he might, he can’t picture Noiz going on a hike, or voluntarily going anywhere without a wifi connection or Coil signal. Not that the park is one of those places. Maybe that’s why Noiz chose it.

“You were supposed to be surprised,” Noiz says. “We’re going on a picnic.” 

“Who are you and what have you done with Noiz?” Aoba says, aghast. 

A faint smile curls the corners of Noiz’s mouth up, and he leads Aoba out of the apartment. “I left him at the park. Come on.” 

“Oh, I see. Okay then, I’d better go with you and make sure he’s okay.” Catching on, Aoba jokes back and lets Noiz hustle him down the elevator and into the underground parking lot, towards the car. 

“Want to drive?” Noiz asks, smirking at Aoba as he unlocks the doors.

Aoba shakes his head vehemently. “How about we get to the park without being pulled over for driving without a license?” 

“If that happened, all we’d have to do is slip him a bribe.”

“This isn’t Midorijima, Noiz!” 

An honest bark of laughter escapes Noiz, and they continue to banter back and forth throughout the drive, until Aoba completely forgets to ask the reason _why_ Noiz has decided to drag him out today, on an unexpected date. 

They make it to the park by late afternoon. Aoba’s never been before, so they spend some time walking around it together, hand in hand. It’s mild for a fall afternoon, the sun lending a bit of warmth to Aoba’s face. He’s delighted with the surroundings. The leaves are resplendent in their colours, and by the time they settle on one of the picnic tables by the river, he’s bright-eyed and flushed with excitement. 

“I never knew this park was here!” he chatters excitedly, helping Noiz unpack the hamper. 

“Seriously? It’s one of the biggest parks in town,” says Noiz. 

“I grew up in a city without parks,” Aoba retorts. “Why would I go to one?”

“And you said I was bad.” 

Aoba scowls at Noiz and goes back to laying out the food on top of the tablecloth. The more things he pulls out, the more disbelieving he is. There’s array of things in there, and they end up with a spread of cold cut sandwiches, bruschetta, risotto balls, deviled eggs, skewers of strawberries and chocolate brownies and marshmallows, and a bottle of wine. Complete with two wine glasses. 

“There’s no way you made all of this,” Aoba says, awed. 

“I bought it,” Noiz says, and then pauses. “Then I had to battle traffic to bring it back and pick you up.”

“Oh yeah, how could I forget about traffic? Thanks for your hard work, Noiz.” Laughing, Aoba pours out a glass of wine for them, and digs in. 

Together, the two of them take their time eating, and at one point, Noiz switches from his side of the picnic table table to join Aoba. Aoba doesn’t complain, nestling against him and stealing his warmth. He tips his head back and opens his mouth; Noiz feeds him a marshmallow, and then kisses him after. It’s unbearably sweet.

“So why exactly are we here today?” he asks, flicking Noiz lightly on the nose. 

“Can’t I do something just because I want to?” Noiz says. 

“You’re avoiding the answer, you never do that!” If Aoba had any suspicions about this being a special occasion rather than Noiz deciding he wanted to do something romantic. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s surprised Aoba by dragging him out for an evening of wining and dining, or springing a weekend getaway somewhere else with him, just the two of them. In fact, Aoba would’ve never thought that the brat he met on Midorijima could be so romantic. 

But between now and then, a lot of things have changed. Aoba’s happier than he’s ever been, and he likes to think that Noiz is too. 

There’s certainly no missing the blatant fondness in Noiz’s eyes when he looks at Aoba, the warmth in them no product of the setting sun, but from an internal emotion. Wrapping an arm around Aoba’s waist, Noiz shifts, kissing the side of his head. 

“I love you, you know that?” Noiz says. 

Aoba makes a fussy, embarrassed sound. “Of course I know that. ...I love you too, Noiz. So much.” 

“And you’re happy?” 

“I’m happy,” Aoba answers softly. “What’re you giving me the third degree for?” 

“Just wanted to hear it.” Cupping Aoba’s face with the palm of his hand, Noiz strokes his cheek with his thumb. 

His palm is warm, and Aoba leans into the touch. He bites his lip, and then says, “I’m happy here with you Noiz. I wouldn’t change anything in the world as long as we’re together.” 

“Me too,” Noiz says. “Without you-- if I never met you, I don’t know where I’d be today. Because of you, my whole life changed.” 

“That makes two of us,” Aoba laughs. 

“Remember when we were talking in the car? When I said I’d answer you later.” Noiz’s gaze is fixed on Aoba with an uncharacteristic seriousness, and Aoba blinks. 

“Uhm, the whole bit about how I can do what I want but I don’t have to if I don’t want to?” Aoba says. 

“Yeah.” 

“And…?”

Noiz relinquishes his hold on Aoba’s face, and fidgets with something in his pocket. Aoba is reminded of Noiz at nineteen, poised but with traces of his age peeking through at times. But with or without his piercings, at nineteen or whatever his current age may be, Noiz hasn’t changed all that much. What has changed has changed for the better. Aoba supposes it’s the same for him. 

"You gave me all of my firsts," Noiz says seriously, pulling out a tiny, velvet covered box. "But I want to be your last.”

“Noiz?” Aoba says, his breath catching in his throat. His heart is racing.

“There’s no one else that I’d rather depend on besides you, but I want to become someone you can rely on too. Always. If you’ll have me.” 

His hand drops, a light dusting of pink on his features. Aoba watches, stunned, as he opens the box to reveal a glittering ring set in the plush cushion. 

“Will you marry me, Aoba?” Noiz asks, all gravity and sincerity. 

Aoba’s heart explodes in his chest like fireworks, his mouth dry. He doesn't even notice the sunset except in terms of Noiz, and how it paints him in vivid reds and oranges and yellows, the green of his eyes awash and blazing. And Aoba knows without a doubt that he’s lost his heart ages ago to this impudent brat, handed it over to him for safekeeping. None of the regret and second-guessing that plagued him when he came to Germany with Noiz is in him anymore. They don’t always get along perfectly, and they’ve had their fair share of arguments, but Noiz is everything to him. His favourite mistake, his friend, his lover, and his confidant. 

“Didn’t you tell me we were already practically like newlyweds once?”

"You remembered that." It's a statement rather than a question, and Noiz finally says, "You were acting like a housewife."

"I was not!" Aoba protests. 

"You were."

"Some of us have manners, you know--"

"Aoba," interrupts Noiz, his brows knitting together like he's on the verge of frowning. "Your reply?"

"Right," Aoba says, and repeats. "Right. I just-- I thought it'd be obvious." A grin spreads over his face like wildfire, and Aoba tentatively holds out his left hand. “The answer’s yes, Noiz. Yes, yes, and yes!” 

Relief breaks out across Noiz’s features, and with trembling hands, he slides the ring onto Aoba’s finger. “I’ll make you the happiest person in the world,” Noiz promises. 

“I’m already the happiest person in the world,” Aoba says, laughing as he plants kisses all over Noiz. They come together for a deep, slow kiss, caught up in one another, clinging to one another, until it’s impossible to tell where they start and end.


	5. snuggle bug

Seragaki Aoba is a professional snuggler. Cuddler. The guy who’ll come over to your house, apartment, or hotel of your choice and spend a couple hours spooning with you, no strings attached.

A professional snuggler, contrary to popular belief, has nothing to do with sex. It’s simple human contact-- but there’s a whole section on the company website in the client agreement section, and generally, everyone is pretty good about it. Most of his clients are just lonely people who want someone around to cuddle with. There’s also another entire page of the website devoted to the benefits of human on human contact. 

“Relax,” he says, nudging at today’s customer’s shoulder. “I’m not gonna bite.” 

A _something_ , a cross between a snort and a scoff leaves his customer. “What if I want you to bite me?”

“Then you called the wrong service, buddy,” Aoba says. 

“Wasn’t me who called you.”

“Well, someone did, and someone paid. So I’m here, and you’re stuck with me. Why don’t you just give it a shot?”

For Aoba, it’s a cushy part-time job he managed to score through word of mouth. It seemed easy enough in theory, and in reality… well, it could be a little awkward, and a little weird at first. People ask him if he’s got any horror stories-- tales of customers who whipped it out or showed up at the session with something else other than cuddling on their mind-- and yeah, it’s happened. But generally, it’s a safe job, and Aoba’s had more naps on it than any other job he’s ever had, which is a real perk. Plus, he’s picked up enough tips and tricks over the last year or so he’s spent as a professional cuddler to break the ice and make any cuddling experience comfortable. 

Or at least, that’s how it should go. 

“Or I could leave,” his customer says. 

“You could,” Aoba answers, and dredges his name up from memory. “ _Or_ you could give it a try, Noiz. Unless you’re scared.” 

His customer-- no, Noiz, glowers at Aoba, his sparse eyebrows knitted together in a thunderous frown. “Of what?” 

“Exactly.” Aoba smiles at him, undeterred by both the scowl and Noiz’s general appearance. He’s prickly all over, and it’s a deliberate projection, written in the multitude of piercings glinting from the sunlight spilling into the hotel room, the sullen slouch of his posture. Like a human porcupine, everything about him screams _do not touch_. But Aoba doesn’t like to half-ass his job, however easy it may be. He pats the bed. “There’s nothing to be scared of. Come on.” 

A hard sigh leaves Noiz, and he presses his mouth together until his lips thin. Then he sits down on the bed, beside Aoba, kicking off his shoes. 

“Great! Uhm, make yourself comfortable, I guess.” 

Noiz slides up the bed and stuffs two of the pillows up against the headboard, leaning against it. Aoba joins him. 

“You don’t need to talk to me,” Aoba says. “But you can. You can just do whatever you want though, and I’ll work with it. That sound good?” 

Instead of an answer, Noiz immediately opens his coil, fiddling with it and absorbing himself with the screen that’s popped up. It’s all graphs and maps, and Aoba gives it a passing glance before dismissing it. What he _does_ do is scoot a little closer to Noiz, as unobtrusively as possible, until he’s leaning on him. Noiz stiffens. 

Shoulder, arm, side, hip, leg. Aoba slots himself against Noiz until they form a single continuous line together. He makes himself comfortable, then pops his own coil screen open for perusal. From the corner of his eye, he can feel Noiz observing him like a wary animal, unsure of what to do with this turn of events. Aoba ignores it, going through his inbox and answering a few texts he’s left off. 

Following suit, Noiz returns to his own affairs. The rigid set of his body never fully vanishes, but neither does he push Aoba away from him. Neither of them say much, which is fine by Aoba. Contact’s been made, so his goal’s been accomplished.

The next time he opens his eyes, it’s to the strident ring of his alarm, signaling the end of the session. Aoba’s cheek is pressed against something solid and warm. With a groan of protest, he opens his eyes, lifting his head up. Fumbling around for a moment, he shuts off the alarm. And then he freezes. 

Noiz is peering down at Aoba, his expression unreadable, and Aoba realises that his comfortable napping spot happened to be nothing other than Noiz’s shoulder. His face starts to burn. They’re barely inches apart, and Noiz, this up close, is statuesque in the clean, classic lines of his high cheekbones and jawline, a kind of good looking that’s overshadowed by the surliness of his demeanour. 

“Sorry,” Aoba manages to say finally. “Ah… time’s up.” 

“You were drooling,” Noiz says, unmoving. 

“Eh?” 

But before Aoba can reach out to wipe at his face, Noiz beats him to it, rubbing the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Aoba flushes, and jerks away, scrambling off of the bed and wiping at his face. Noiz watches him impassively from the bed, unrumpled and stoic. His face is tingling where Noiz touched him.

“A-anyway!!” Aoba’s aware his voice is too loud, and he hopes to hell that he didn’t drool _on_ Noiz. Talk about making an impression. “That’s the end of our session. It wasn’t so bad, right?” 

“...it was whatever.” 

Aoba tugs his shoes on, fumbling with them, taking longer than normal to put them on. Trying to buy time and regain some sense of composure with idle chatter. “You really aren’t into touching, huh? I wonder why your friend set you up like this.” 

Noiz’s eyes narrow and he shrugs, sliding off the bed to join Aoba by the door. “So you’re fine doing this with anyone?” 

“Not just anyone,” Aoba corrects, delighted. That was the longest sentence he’s heard Noiz say today. “I don’t have to stay if I think a customer’s gonna do something weird, but other than that… most people just want company.” 

“I don’t need it,” Noiz says. “But…” 

“But?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay,” Aoba says, grinning. “You keep telling yourself that. But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me!” 

He doubts that Noiz will ever willingly call him again, especially since he wasn’t the one to set up this appointment in the first place, but it never hurts to say it. The job is free-lance, and building up a steady client base means more work for him.

“Aoba,” Noiz says. 

“Mm?” 

“That’s your name.” 

“Oh, yeah. That’s me, I’m Aoba.” 

Stepping into Aoba’s personal space in one graceful stride, Noiz stands toe to toe with him, and Aoba’s back bumps into the door. He has to tilt his head up, just barely, to meet Noiz’s piercing gaze. 

“I’ll remember that.” Noiz says, tipping his head down in turn, his breath ghosting across Aoba’s face. Then Noiz steps back to open it for him, and Aoba has to scramble to avoid being crushed by it, trying to hide the rising colour on his face by rushing out the door, glancing back only when he’s in the hallway. 

Standing in the threshold, Noiz is looking at Aoba with something like contemplation in his eyes. Aoba waves his goodbye-- it’s all he can manage-- and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’ll be hearing from him again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by a conversation i had with yasuo_karada!!
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> hit me up on twitter @ throatkiss (: 


	6. les mots d'amour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [the-rarest-mint](http://the-rarest-mint.tumblr.com/) @ tumblr for the dmmd valentine's day express!

“That,” Aoba says, “is a dishwasher.” 

“So you do know what it is,” Noiz says. 

“Of course I know what a dishwasher is, what are you trying to get at?” 

At Aoba’s back, Noiz radiates heat that sinks past his clothes when he leans into him, arms reaching around him to roll his sleeves up. They’re already damp, bubbles clinging to them from the sink, Aoba’s forearms slick. Noiz’s thoughtful hum rumbles against his ear, and Aoba tries not to drop the dish he’s washing. Noiz doesn’t make it easier. “I’ve been thinking… why don’t you use it instead of washing them by hand?”

“I,” Aoba says, glancing at the dishwasher. It sits tucked beneath the dark granite countertop, sleek and modern and easily mistakable for a space rocket, or a cryogenic chamber next to the stainless steel oven. He frowns at it. “We never used ours, back home.”

“Why not?” Noiz asks, nosing at Aoba’s neck. 

“Habit, I guess. I think it saved water? Maybe.” 

“Who cares about that? It’s more efficient.” 

Aoba purses his mouth, rinsing off the dish he has in hand. Of course he knows it’s more efficient, more convenient, and less time-consuming than washing them by hand, but. But. 

“Unless you don’t know how to use it.” Noiz guesses correctly, and Aoba frowns and elbows him in the ribs, warm huffs of laughter ringing at his ear. 

“The instructions were all in German, and the writing was _tiny_ ,” he complains. “And then it made this noise when I started it, I thought it was gonna break all the dishes!” 

“You don’t have to do the dishes,” Noiz tells him when he’s done laughing and Aoba is still sulking and the sink remains full of dirty dishes to be taken care of. 

“Are you gonna do them?” Aoba grumbles. 

“Later,” Noiz says. “I know how to use the dishwasher.” 

“Then-- hey!” 

Noiz bites him on the side of his neck. The plate slips from his hand with a loud splash, water getting all over the front of Aoba’s shirt. He splutters indignantly, only to moan moments later when Noiz sucks at his tongue _just so_ , his hands already moving to peel Aoba out of his wet clothing. Aoba doesn’t complain when it lands on the floor, or when his jeans and underwear join it, or when the dishes go completely forgotten in favour of Noiz and him grinding greedily against each other.

 

\-----

 

The thing is. The thing _is_ , and Aoba knows what the thing is very well, is that he doesn’t have to do the laundry, or wash the dishes, or vacuum the apartment, or the dozen other miscellaneous household chores that he does. But he does it anyway because he’s the one who’s home half the time, and because it makes him feel useful.

So when the doorbell rings mid-morning on a Wednesday and Aoba goes to get the door and is greeted by a middle-aged woman in a neat uniform with an array of cleaning equipment in tow, he has to double check that he’s actually at home and not in a hotel, staring down room service blankly. 

“Hello,” she says. “I’m here to clean, _ja_?” 

“Uhm, I think you have the wrong place,” Aoba says back in halting, faltering German.

But he ends up letting her in after she shows him the information on her coil, the receipt for the cleaning and every other relevant piece of paperwork. She starts immediately, dusting corners and mopping the floor, leaving Aoba wondering what he’s supposed to do. He ends up trailing after her awkwardly and trying to stay out of her way until she levels a glare at him that’s so eerily reminiscent of Tae, he flinches. 

“Go somewhere else for a while,” she says, and it isn’t a suggestion. Aoba suspects that professionalism is the only thing keeping her back from adding “you nuisance”. 

That’s how he ends up going to Noiz’s work with lunch in tow, and a piece of his mind to give him. 

“He could’ve said something,” he complains to Ren as he rides the elevator up, It’s thankfully empty. 

“Noiz has always been taciturn,” Ren says. 

“Maybe he’s trying to tell me I do a shitty job at vacuuming.” Aoba frowns at the elevator door. Ren reassures him that he’s an excellent vacuumer as he steps out of the elevator and down the hall to Noiz’s office. 

Ren licks his hand. “You should ask him personally, Aoba. That will be the best way to get an accurate answer.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” With a sigh, Aoba knocks on the door. 

Aoba doesn’t make a habit of visiting Noiz at work. It definitely isn’t because he finds the building Noiz works in dizzying, full of people rushing about and the phones ringing almost nonstop. Definitely not. He also doesn’t want to distract him, and because he suspects getting visited at work is almost like a treat, so he doles out the visits sparingly. Besides, he has a sneaking suspicion about the gleam in Noiz’s eye he gets every so often when Aoba shows up, and his gaze runs from him to the solid oak of his desk. 

But the way Noiz lights up when he opens the door and sees Aoba is gratifying, the way his mouth tilts up in a small, private smile at him. 

It almost makes Aoba forget to be angry at him. Almost.

“You hired a cleaning service and didn’t tell me and I got kicked out of the house,” he says, and adds as an afterthought, “I brought you lunch, so you better explain what the hell this is about.” 

“Thought it’d be easier for you,” Noiz says, taking his coffee and sandwich from Aoba. He raises an eyebrow at the sandwich. 

“I don’t mind cleaning,” Aoba protests. 

Noiz is quiet, chewing on his sandwich thoughtfully. His manners are perfect; he doesn’t talk with his mouth full (anymore). “But you don’t have to.” 

“I know, but I like doing things for you,” Aoba says, flushing. 

“Oh?” Noiz says, arching an eyebrow. Their eyes meet, and Aoba swallows nervously. 

“Never mind, let’s talk about this later,” he says hastily. “I’ll see you at home.” 

Noiz doesn’t try to stop him from leaving, doesn’t do more than kiss him chastely on the cheek before Aoba flees back to home, where the cleaning service is gone and the apartment is squeaky clean again.

 

\-----

 

“Dishes,” he gasps out. 

“Later,” Noiz promises, scooping up the bubbles from the sink and wrapping his hand around Aoba’s cock. 

“ _Noiz_ ,” Aoba moans, rocking blindly into his hand and pulling at Noiz’s clothes, because he’s wearing entirely too much of it still. 

“Forget the dishes,” Noiz says. “Unless…” 

“What?” At this point, Aoba is largely incoherent because Noiz is doing that thing with his hand, and they’re both stumbling through the kitchen to the dining table, where Noiz promptly bends Aoba face down over it, rubbing up against Aoba’s ass, piercings dragging along his skin. He’s kept his shirt on, the cotton soft on his back, and Aoba whines.

“Washing the dishes,” he purrs indecently into Aoba’s ear as he writhes beneath him. 

“H-hah?” 

“Clean laundry,” is an incredibly weird thing for Noiz to talk about when he’s busy opening Aoba up with his fingers and stroking him, but Aoba can barely understand the words for what they are anyway beneath the haze of heat rising in him. 

“What are you talking-- why-” Aoba manages to say, before Noiz slides two fingers into his mouth, catching his tongue. Giving in, he sucks on them, wanton. 

“That turn you on? Chores?” He’s laughing in Aoba’s ear, running his tongue over the shell of it in inappropriate, lavish licks that has Aoba pushing into the smooth, cool wood of their table restlessly. Aoba bites Noiz’s fingers, and is met with a low groan. Mumbling around them doesn’t work; luckily, Noiz gets the idea and pulls them out. Saliva drips from them, from Aoba’s mouth, and he swallows greedy gasps of air. “Look at how excited you are.”

“Chores don’t turn me on, you perverted brat,” he says, gasping. “ _You--_ ”

Noiz grabs Aoba by the hips, spreads him open unceremoniously and then slides right into him; beneath Noiz, Aoba shouts in surprise, more from the sudden stretch and burn than actual pain, because Noiz is good to him, and he’s greedy for it, for how he fills him up perfectly. 

“You said you liked doing things for me. It’s the same for me,” breathes Noiz, and there’s nothing coy about the fast and dirty way he’s fucking Aoba, words clipped where he runs out of breath into all edges. He peppers the nape of Aoba’s neck with kisses, scrapes his teeth over soft skin until Aoba’s sure that there’ll be dozens of marks there tomorrow, and in between it all, he keeps _talking_. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you, Aoba.” 

“More,” Aoba says, which is a generous term to use, because what he really does is demand it breathlessly, in an obscene drawl that gets a punched-out sound from Noiz. 

“Again.” 

“Don’t tease, Noiz, j-just, ah, ah-- do it!” 

With a low, harsh growl, Noiz redoubles his efforts, burying his face against Aoba’s hair and pounding into him. The dining table creaks dangerously, and the napkin holder inches precariously closer and closer to the edge of it, until it tips over to the ground in a clatter that goes unnoticed by Aoba, because Noiz is talking, hot and filthy and in a pitch meant solely for him, saying, “I’ll do all the dishes for you, I’ll go grocery shopping with you, I’ll fuck you wherever, whenever you want--” 

And then they’re both coming undone, Aoba with his hair mussed around him and his lip nearly bitten through, though that does nothing to muffle the loud, unabashed wail of Noiz’s name he lets out as he comes all over Noiz’s hand, and the table which they can never eat on again. Noiz, behind him, in him, is no better, the last sharp bite of his name dying on his tongue. 

Afterwards, once they’re cleaned up, Noiz reads out the instructions for the dishwasher to Aoba once in German, and another time in Japanese, but tells Aoba that it’s easier to just show him rather than tell, which is how Aoba gets to stare at Noiz in bemusement as they load the dishwasher up together. There are always more dishes, and the cleaning service only did the ones leftover from breakfast. Noiz fiddles with the settings, and it starts with a loud rumble that makes Aoba jump. 

“I told you, it makes that sound! That can’t be a good sound,” Aoba grumbles, red-faced because Noiz is smirking at him. 

“Nothing sounds as good as you,” he says. 

“Finish that thought and you’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” Aoba threatens. 

If anything, Noiz only looks more tempted. But instead, he says blandly, “It’s a state of the art machine. The sound will stop.” Infuriatingly enough, it does stop, right after Noiz says that, and settles into a quiet hum. “Told you.”

“Remind me again why I put up with you?” 

“Because I’m great at--” 

“Shut up, Noiz,” Aoba says, standing up from where he’s been crouched in front of the dishwasher with Noiz. He stretches, arms over his head, and lets Noiz reel him in for another hug from behind. They kiss lazily. The smile creeps over Aoba’s face, fond and soft, and it’s returned by Noiz until he pauses, tilting his head.

“I meant it,” Noiz says. “What I said.” 

“...yeah, I know. So I want a new dining table,” Aoba says. “And you have to stop-- stop jumping me in every room.” 

“Sure,” Noiz says, trying not to look crafty and failing. “New table.”

“And?”

“We have to break it in.” 

“No, we’re getting a new table because you can’t keep it in your pants! No more breaking the furniture in!” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

“You’re the worst,” Aoba grumbles, but he kisses Noiz back, and says against his mouth, “We can keep the cleaning service.”


	7. anecdote i.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> twitter prompts!!
> 
> "NOIAO NOSE KISSES, bonus points if it's in public and aoba's worried they're getting weird stares"

Noiz has been staring unblinkingly at Aoba for five minutes. 

The sweeping hand of the old-fashioned, analog clock behind him says so, Aoba having turned his gaze while squirming in his chair once he realised he’d become an object of fascination. He stabs at his fettucine with a fork, and then kicks Noiz underneath the table. 

“Eat your food,” he says instead of _what are you looking at?_

“I’m done,” Noiz answers without flinching. His plate is all but cleaned, tiny red peppers picked out and left behind. 

“Can’t you get dessert then, instead of watching me eat?”

A rumble of a thoughtful hum answers him instead. Noiz is leaning over the table, and Aoba, with nowhere to go, sinks into the booth’s cushioned back. It isn’t far enough. The palm of Noiz’s hand finds its way to the curve of his cheek, and Aoba opens his mouth automatically to protest. “Your tie, it’s gonna--!!”

His eyes squeeze shut automatically as Noiz ignores him. 

Something soft touches the tip of his nose-- Aoba suspects it isn’t a finger, and his suspicion is confirmed when Noiz licks him, following it up with another gentle kiss. 

“Sauce,” is all Noiz offers for an explanation after he’s sunk back into his seat, his tie somehow unscathed. The elderly woman at the table beside them laughs in approval, murmuring in a mock whisper behind a palm _ah, young love_ , and Aoba goes redder than the peppers abandoned on Noiz’s plate. Noiz is smirking. He says to their audience, “He makes everything taste better.”

Aoba, muffling his embarrassed grumble with the help of both hands applied liberally to his face, makes a mental note to never be seen in public with Noiz again.


	8. anecdote ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> twitter prompts!!
> 
> "NoiAo watches a scary movie and Noiz tries to be adult about it but the dark drives his imagination wild so Aoba has to calm him"

“A-ah!!” Aoba yelps, burying his head against Noiz in shock, but turning it at the last moment to peek at the flat screen television, delighted and horrified. The two of them are curled up on the couch in their apartment, every single light off. It’d been Aoba’s idea initially-- he watches too much television lately, and when he’d seen the commercials for a scary movie marathon, he dragged Noiz into watching them with him. 

Noiz agreed readily, and he’d teased Aoba about being too scared to watch them alone. 

“It doesn’t have anything to do with that,” Aoba said, scowling. “But nobody watches horror alone. The point is to get scared together!” 

“Sure,” Noiz said in a way that sounded like a challenge, and then willingly let Aoba pile them on the couch under a mound of pillows and blankets. He figured that he’d end up being the one looking like an idiot and getting taken by surprise with every jump scare, but… 

Noiz’s shoulder is completely tense, the entire set of his body rigid. His eyes are tightly shut, a faint furrow at his brow. Aoba releases his death grip on his pillow, and tentatively pokes Noiz. 

“Hey,” he says. “Are you okay?” 

There’s a distinct amount of teeth grinding and gnashing from Noiz. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” Squinting at Noiz with only the light of the screen to illuminate him, Aoba leans into him. “Is the movie too much?”

“It isn’t. I’m not scared.” Noiz drops his face into the crook of Aoba’s shoulder, arm winding around Aoba and pulling him closer. 

“We can watch something else,” Aoba offers immediately, frowning. 

“You’re noisy,” Noiz says. “Leave it. Aren’t you watching?” 

“But…” 

Noiz’s arm tightens around him, and Aoba lets it go. They sit together in the dark, locked together until Aoba notices the deep, even rise and fall of Noiz’s chest. Inching his hand towards the remote, he turns the TV off, the screams dying on screen. Staring down at Noiz’s head, Aoba shakes him gently a couple times. No response. He tries to wriggle free, but the arm around him is locked tight. Falling asleep here spells for an uncomfortable morning, but Aoba doesn’t want to wake Noiz. 

One night on the couch won’t hurt.


	9. happy birthday to you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, right. What’re you gonna show me?” 
> 
> “You’ll see.”
> 
> “It better not be anything to do with--” Here, Aoba pauses, catching Noiz’s eye and flicking his gaze down. Lower. Below the belt. “--that.”
> 
> Noiz smirks. “We can do it in a park another time.”
> 
> “I’m saying we absolutely won’t!” Aoba sputters, half-heartedly kicking Noiz on the shin. “Pervert.”

Aoba’s first birthday was a warm thing. The memory of it has long faded into a blurred, sepia recollection, worn around the edges, but here is what he remembers: his mom and his dad and Granny gathered around him; the flickering glow of the candles stuck in the cake they got for him; an overwhelming feeling of belonging, of a tingling happiness; _make a wish, Aoba!_ ; the sweetness of icing on his tongue. He thinks they sang him happy birthday, and he remembers being delighted beyond belief. 

The birthdays in between then and now were both good and bad and sometimes forgotten. Celebrated when Haruka and Nine were present, but lonely when they’d left both him and Tae bereft of their presence, and forgotten during those years that Aoba doesn’t care to remember. 

This year, Noiz all but circled the date in red on a calendar, and started showering Aoba in gifts in the week counting down to his birthday. The first one had consisted of an electronic plane ticket, the notification and subsequent message causing Aoba to start in surprise and head to Noiz’s office in the middle of the day, which in turn lead to making use of the lock on the door and-- anyway, suffice to say, they landed not in Midorijima, but on the mainland 24 hours later. 

“What are we doing here?” Aoba had asked, mystified. 

“Vacation,” was Noiz’s easy reply. “Thought you’d wanna come, since you’ve never been.” 

And they’re doing exactly that: going on vacation like two tourists, like a couple on their honeymoon. Giddy with delight, they fumble their way through the crowded streets of Osaka, food stalls teeming on either side, the scent of food rich and heady in the air. It’s foreign and familiar at the same time-- especially when Aoba takes his eyes off of Noiz for two minutes only to find him halfway down the street with an armful of food, and he thinks of the Noiz he went to Platinum Jail with, bratty and cocky, confident but without any idea of what half the food he spent his money on was. 

He blinks, and Noiz is in front of him, offering him takoyaki. The heat of them seeps through the flimsy cardboard box they’re in to his palm, bonito flakes waving merrily on top of the takoyaki. 

“Here,” Noiz says. 

“Just this? You’re keeping everything else for yourself?” Aoba teases. 

It’s worth it it to see the offended curl of Noiz’s mouth, and how he immediately asserts, “We’re sharing it.” 

“When did you learn how to share?” Aoba says, because Noiz has always been like a kindergartner who never learned to. And then, fondly, “ Who told you you could grow up while I wasn’t looking?”

Noiz’s scowl becomes a palpable thing, and he turns his head to the side. Not fast enough to hide the smattering of pink rising to his cheeks. He grabs Aoba’s hand, and squeezes it. “I wanted to.”

Aoba picks that moment to bite down on the takoyaki, burning his mouth and choking on it simultaneously. Coughing, and with his eyes tearing up, Aoba waits until he’s finished dying to fumble for an answer, his heart trying to escape the confines of his chest. “I know.” 

Redirecting his stare back to Aoba, Noiz adds, “You have something on your face.”

“Where--? Ah!” 

Lifting their joined hands, Noiz swipes at the corner of Aoba’s mouth. Sauce rubs itself off onto Aoba’s knuckles, and Noiz brings them to his mouth, kissing it off. A series of undignified noises rise from Aoba, and he hastily yanks his hand free from Noiz with a hiss, “We’re in public!! I take it back, you haven’t changed at all!”

“Come on,” Noiz says. He’s smiling. “There’s somewhere else I wanna take you.” 

Aoba grumbles, Aoba eats another takoyaki, Aoba inevitably follows Noiz down the street and onwards. 

They cross over a bridge half buried in cherry blossom petals, the water dappled with them. The day is cool and clear, the air fragrant from the blooming flowers. Aoba tips his head back and inhales. It’s crowded, but not unbearably so. Glancing around furtively, Aoba lets himself fall in step closer to Noiz, torn between unbearable happiness and self-consciousness as Noiz presses the very tips of his fingers to the small of Aoba’s back, guiding him. He doesn’t mind it as much as he should, knowing that this is Noiz’s way of showing off to him. Of caring for him. 

The bridge melts away into a narrow walkway, and into a gravel path threaded through grass. Cherry blossom trees line the path, their branches all but obscured by the lush profusion of flowers. Blankets spread over the ground are piled with food and people, laughing and enjoying the view. 

“It’s hanami season, huh? Hey, maybe we should go grab a blanket and some food too,” Aoba says, a little wistful. Two is a lonely number for a hanami, but he wouldn’t trade Noiz for anything in the world. 

“Maybe later,” says Noiz, reaching down to lace his fingers through Aoba’s. He picks up the pace.

“Oh, right. What’re you gonna show me?” 

“You’ll see.”

“It better not be anything to do with--” Here, Aoba pauses, catching Noiz’s eye and flicking his gaze down. Lower. Below the belt. “--that.”

Noiz smirks. “We can do it in a park another time.”

“I’m saying we absolutely won’t!” Aoba sputters, half-heartedly kicking Noiz on the shin. “Pervert.”

A huff of laughter from Noiz, and he surges ahead, pulling Aoba along by the hand.

Eventually, they reach a clearing with a smattering of trees in a half-circle around it. The breeze picks up again, petals whirling along like snowflakes. Aoba’s attention is caught by them, and by how the trees’ branches extend up to the sky, blue and pink melding together like cotton candy. Wide-eyed, he tips his head back and feels the smile spreading wide across his face. 

“Aoba!” 

“Master!”

“Hey, Aoba, what’re you looking at? We’re over here!” 

Aoba nearly gives himself whiplash, turning his gaze to the group gathered underneath one of the trees. He knows those voices. He knows the people spread out on the massive blanket, waving at him. There’s Koujaku, with Mizuki beside him, both of them holding beers. Clear is on his feet, gesturing in broad strokes at him. Tae is sitting placidly in her own corner, the rumpled furrow of her brow smoothed out in exchange for a soft smile. Even Mink is there, nibbling on one of Tae’s donuts. 

Rubbing at his eyes, Aoba gapes at them in a happy stupor. He looks at Noiz. “How did you…” 

“Thought you’d like it,” Noiz says with no small amount of smug satisfaction. “Happy birthday, Aoba.” 

“I--”

Noiz tugs him forward, and Aoba follows, stumbling and dazed. Happy. 

A chorus of birthday greetings meet him: _happy birthday, Aoba!; you should see the look on your face; master, were you surprised?_

He sits down, Noiz settling beside him. Aoba faces him, grinning. Koujaku presses a cold can of beer into his hand, and Clear enthusiastically points out the contents of the picnic spread, urging Aoba to try this and that. His granny pushes over the basket of donuts. Aoba pops one in his mouth, the gentle sweetness of them saturating his mouth. 

“Happy birthday,” Tae says, fond but cranky about it. “Eat up, or we’ll have too many leftovers.”

“Granny,” Aoba beams. “Everyone’s here.” 

“Of course we are,” Koujaku says, passing a plate to Aoba, their fingers brushing. “It’s your birthday, after all.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world,” Mizuki agrees. The collar of his coat hides his neck, and when Aoba lets his eyes linger on it for a second too long, Mizuki smiles at him, lop-sided. 

“...congratulations.” Mink’s voice cuts through the conversation, low and smokey. Aoba glows. 

“Thanks, you guys.” He leans against Noiz. “Thank you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had GRANDIOSE PLANS for birthday fic, but i ended up being too busy to write what i wanted, BUT I'M GLAD I GOT SOMETHING OUT REGARDLESS.
> 
> aoba is my favourite dmmd character, and i love him so much.


	10. it's hard to know that you still care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is from a larger wip that i've had for two years & honestly i am never gonna finish it so i might post pieces of it that i like more than others lmao
> 
> the basic premise is that noiz grew up in germany, and met aoba at quite a young age.

They run into a complication in Japan. Or more like Noiz creates one out of thin air by looking at someone wrong (a talent of his), and the next thing you know, they're surrounded on all sides by a group of gangsters. Aoba is tugging at Noiz's sleeve and hissing at him, telling him to _shut up, don't make things worse._ Noiz ignores him and makes a rude gesture that evidently holds a universal meaning, from the reaction it provokes. 

" _Noiz,_ " Aoba groans and his eyes are darting around, looking for a way out of this mess. 

"They started it," Noiz stubbornly holds his ground. "You should get out of here."

"I'm not leaving you behind!" And as if to prove his point, he takes a step forward. The gang stirs restlessly, glancing at one another. They don't know what to make of it, Noiz with his piercings and his ferocious scowl, and Aoba hovering at his shoulder. 

"Come on," he goads the crowd, subtly widening his stance and raising his fists. 

Just as the fight's about to break out, footsteps come from the alley behind them, and everyone turns to the newcomer. 

"Boss!" 

"It's the boss!" 

The murmur rises into a greeting for the man in a kimono, dark hair pushed back from his face to expose the stark black lines of the tattoo inked there. His expression is unreadable, and Aoba, who has been yanking insistently at Noiz again as soon as the gang's attention was diverted, freezes. Noiz glances at him, but he is looking at the man with the tattoo. 

"What do we have here?" The man is smiling, and Noiz examines him coolly. They called him their boss-- what was it Aoba said about Japan? Yakuza, maybe. He looks older than both him and Aoba. 

"Trespassers, Koujaku-san." 

"Foreigners?" The man- no-- Koujaku asks, looking at Noiz's ash blonde hair, the straight line of his nose.

Noiz bristles, interrupting. "None of your business." 

"Anything or anyone that passes through here _is_ my business, kid." They're nose to nose now, and behind Koujaku, the ranks of his subordinates tighten and fingers clench around the hilts of switchblades, swords. All of them are dressed in traditional clothing, Noiz notices.

"Don't call me kid, old man." Noiz is slipping hands into his pockets, brass knuckles fitting over his hands, ready to add another scar to keep the one spanning across Koujaku's nose company. 

Then Aoba steps on Noiz's foot, claps his hand over Noiz's mouth too for good measure and drags him back. Every pair of eyes focuses on Aoba when he moves under the street light. "Sorry about him. We were just passing by, that's all. It's a misunderstanding." 

Koujaku sucks in a breath, his face pale like he's seen a ghost. "Aoba? Is that you?" 

Noiz pulls himself free and throws Aoba another questioning look, which Aoba doesn't see because he is staring at Koujaku with a faint smile. 

"Hi, Koujaku."  
  
  
  
  
  
What happens next is a whirlwind of activity, Noiz and Aoba are buffeted along by Koujaku, who directs them back towards a large compound house. They don't speak much along the way, and everyone is pretending not to notice Koujaku sneaking glances at Aoba every two seconds. Noiz puts himself in between them, Aoba walking so closely to him that he trods on his heel every once in a while. He's clutching Noiz's hand. 

At the house, Koujaku disappears and a maid leads them to their room with a bow. Noiz worries at his bottom lip the entire time, silent until the door shuts behind them and it's just him and Aoba.

Aoba sinks down to the tatami, fatigue written in the sprawl of his body across the low table. Noiz sits down cross legged beside him, their knees touching. He leans over to peer at Aoba. 

"You know him?" 

He receives a nod for an answer. Aoba drags himself up and says, "We knew each other when we were kids. I never thought I'd see him again." 

"He didn't think so either." 

"No," Aoba says. "He didn't. But he'll help us. He has to." 

Noiz makes a sound of dissatisfaction, unwilling to accept his help. "I don't like how he looks at you."

Aoba laughs and turns to wrap an arm around Noiz's waist, pillowing his head on Noiz's thigh. He peers up at him with crinkled eyes. Noiz knows Aoba thinks he's acting like a child again, acting his age. But Aoba doesn't say anything of that. Instead, he says, "You don't like anyone." 

Noiz clicks his tongue, and they stay like that for a long time, Noiz stroking Aoba's hair until a messenger comes back with Koujaku's request to speak to Aoba alone. 

Like Noiz is going to let that happen. He waits all of five seconds before getting up to follow them, feet silent as he tails the vibrant flash of Aoba's hair. Noiz finds them on the veranda wrapped around the house- this section opens into a garden. Stepping back behind a sliding screen, he stays out of sight from the two of them, but well within earshot. 

The acrid tang of smoke fills the air, a cigarette hanging between Koujaku's fingers. He absently taps it against the side of an ashtray every so often, never once taking his eyes off of Aoba. Like he doesn't quite believe what he's seeing, or he's afraid that if he blinks, Aoba would disappear. Noiz shifts his weight restlessly. 

It's Aoba who breaks the silence first. "We're going to Midorijima- me and Noiz." 

"Aoba," Koujaku says, but Aoba plows on without regard. 

Aoba's voice is quiet, and Noiz has to strain to hear his words. "But I heard it's pretty hard to get there now." 

Koujaku takes a long drag from his cigarette. Aoba isn't looking at him anymore, but Koujaku is. "Don't go back there, Aoba."

"I have to."

The silence between them is thick and heavy, Aoba stubbornly holding his ground and Koujaku-- Noiz doesn't know how they met, or who he is, but Aoba was right. He doesn't like him. He wants to tell Aoba that they don't need his help, the two of them can get to Midorijima alone somehow when Koujaku laughs, the sound bitter. 

"That's how it is, huh?" Koujaku stubs out the cigarette on the ashtray between them, raking his hand through his hair. "After all this time... you show up out of nowhere, with that kid in tow, like this-- like-" 

"Like what, Koujaku?" 

Koujaku exhales hard from his nose and switches tracks. "There's nothing left on Midorijima for you, Aoba. Stay here. Stay with me."

Aoba is shaking his head, shaking his head and hunching his shoulders, and Noiz doesn't need to see his face to imagine the unhappy twist of his mouth. "I can't."

He's reaching for Koujaku's face, and Koujaku is staring down at the slender line of Aoba's wrist, pale skin stretched over bone, frozen in place. His fingers ghost over the tattoo, and Koujaku recoils. 

"I'm sorry, Koujaku." 

"Aoba," he breathes out his name like a prayer. "I- I am too. I never wanted to-" 

Noiz shifts uncomfortably, the emotion curled thick around Koujaku's words prickling under his skin. He doesn't have much of a conscience, but this feels _private_ , and he's intruding... 

"I know. It's okay, Koujaku. It wasn't your fault." Aoba sighs. "Maybe if things were different, or if there was more time..."

"I understand." Koujaku is rising to his feet, picking up the ashtray with him. He busies himself with straightening out his kimono, avoiding Aoba's eyes. "All right. Midorijima- I'll see what I can do."

Noiz decides it's as good a time as any to leave, slipping back into the room they were staying in before Aoba returned.


	11. a piacere

Chopin’s minute waltz, op. 64, no. 1 in D flat major comes to life beneath his fingertips.

The piano keys are smooth and gently warmed by the late afternoon sunlight to the touch, each stroke melding with the next into a river of glittering notes. Eyes closed, Aoba plays. Plays and plays and _feels_. He loves the upturn in the composition, the way the sheet of music transforms into this bright ripple of music. 

It always reminds him of his parents. Of his dad, who would sit with him on the lumpy couch at home with a sheaf of music in hand, pointing at each note in treble clef and naming them as he goes. Of his mom, who would cover his hands with her own, long fingers in a gentle curl.

“Like a spider's legs, Aoba,” she'd say, and Aoba would laugh and squirm. 

The piano and those memories are all he has left of them now.

They didn't have room to keep a piano at Granny's, so all he has is a keyboard at home. But the school piano isn't that out of tune, and nobody minds it when Aoba lingers in the music room after school to tinker around on it. Nobody bothers him.

As the piece comes to an end, Aoba pauses with his hands splayed over the keys. What should he play next?

“You're pretty good,” says a voice from directly over his shoulder, and Aoba yelps in surprise. There's a brief, undignified scramble of limbs and discordant clang of chords from the piano when Aoba hurls himself around and half sits on it. 

“What-- who- don't sneak up on me like that!” 

“I didn’t,” says the other boy-- another student, the knot of his tie neat and crisp, uniform pressed, a total contradiction to the piercings all over his face and ears. “You weren’t paying attention.” 

“That’s like the definition of sneaking up on someone! Couldn’t you have knocked or something?” Aoba finally pushes himself off the piano, crossing his arms and moving forward to square down with the boy. To his dismay, they’re pretty much the same height. “Who are you anyway?”

“What were you playing?” the boy asks instead. 

“I asked you a question first!” 

The boy sighs, face going sullen. It would be intimidating on anyone else, anyone who didn’t still have lingering traces of baby fat. Aoba glances down at his tie. It’s green. A year below him. He sounds bored when he says, “I’ll tell you my name if you tell me the name of what you were playing.” 

Something about his tone makes Aoba bristle reflexively, and shoot back, “Tell me your name first.”

Silence reigns in the sun-soaked room, the two of them staring each other down. Aoba’s aggravated, annoyed beyond belief. Who does this kid think he is, barging in here and listening in on him and being an absolute, total jerk?

“...Noiz.” 

“Chopin. Minute Waltz, opus 64, the first one.” 

There’s another lull during which neither of them say anything, until Aoba reluctantly adds, because his granny taught him manners, “And I’m Aoba.” 

“Teach me how to play,” Noiz says abruptly, sliding onto the piano bench.

“What?” Aoba’s left standing, mouth hanging open. 

“The piano.” B flat reverberates throughout the room when Noiz presses down on it, hands wrapped up in layers and layers of bandages. Aoba frowns down at him, and Noiz, impatient, says, “Well?”

“No way. Teaching’s not my thing,” he says. 

“Why not?” 

“Because- because it just isn’t!”

“But you can play.” 

Never before has Aoba felt more like ripping his hair out. “Playing and teaching are two different things. Just because you can play, doesn’t mean you can teach. Besides, there’s like, actual teachers for it.” 

“I don’t want anyone else.” Noiz is scowling now, like a kid who’s been told no and is on the verge of a tantrum. 

“Well, you’re gonna have to find someone else,” says Aoba, grabbing his bag and booking it for the door. He’s stopped by a hand at his wrist, gripping him tightly. “Let go!”

“Teach me.”

“No way!”

“I want to learn.”

“Then find someone else to learn from.” 

“It has to be you,” Noiz insists again stubbornly, and Aoba has known this kid for all of five minutes, but he can already tell he’s not the kind of person who gives up easily. Unfortunately for him, neither is Aoba. 

Except. Except, he remembers how patiently his mom corrected him whenever he got a note wrong; when his dad told him what _a piacere_ stood for and clapped her hands progressively louder in time to his crescendos on the piano, and he looks at Noiz, whose eyes pierce right through him. They’re pale and glass cool. Aoba doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but whatever it is, he finds it. 

“Teach me how to play the piano,” Noiz repeats, clinging to Aoba’s wrist like a lifeline. 

Aoba sighs, and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he says, and like he can’t believe what he’s saying, says it again, “fine. I’ll teach you.” 

The subtle quirk of a smile on Noiz’s impassive face makes Aoba think that maybe he’s not making a huge mistake.


End file.
